A Rose and a Thorn
by USUK-Love-Forever
Summary: A series of one shots of Scotland and England rolled into one story. Angst, Romance, BL, rated M for language.
1. Oneshots

**Okay. I'm not sure how this works or anything. *Sweat drop* but here's some ScotEng for all you fans! *shot by everyone* **

**I don't own anything. (like normal, lol) **

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><p><em>Just For Tonight<em>

He really didn't know what he was thinking. The little brat was nothing that he ever wanted to take care of...

But it wasn't like he could just leave him in the cold.

England yawned and curled up tighter in his cloak, watching the Scotsman tiredly. Scotland looked over at him.

"Aye... alright. But just for tonight, lad." England's face went bright in a flash and ran and hopped on the bed. Scotland rolled his eyes and smiled as he took off his shirt. When he turned back, England was already asleep.

_The Best_

"Ohf!" England hit the ground, panting and holding his sword closer.

"Aye, lad, you need to pick up the pace!" Scotland said, holding his sword over his shoulder smirking. "If you are this slow everyone is going to step on-" he stopped as he saw a sword pointed at his throat and a blood drop off of England's chin.

"They won't step on me if I step on them first." England rasped. "Because, I learned from the best." England smirked as he looked up at Scotland.

"Aye, that ye did." Scotland grabbed Englands sword and swung it over his shoulder with his. "Thats enough fer today, lad. Come on." He looked down as he felt England slip his hand into his.

_Sexual Tension_

"How dare you, you wanker!"

"Kiss ass!"

"Ass hole!"

Wales looked over at Northern Ireland and sighed.

"When do you think they will stop this time?" He asked quietly not to get any attention drawn to them.

Northern Ireland shrugged, "When they realize they wanna fuck each other, or when they get rid of enough sexual tension."

Wales nodded in agreement and looked back at their older brothers who were now body slamming one another. "I think it will be the latter."

_Bleeding Heart_

Scotland froze as he saw the room before him. It was torn apart and a couple layed on the couch. One wore glasses and had that piece of hair that won't lay down. The other had thick eyebrows and beautiful green eyes. Both looked up when they saw the Scot. Having nothing to say or do, he fled the room. Just before he slammed the door of the house shut he heard a pitiful call of "Scotland?"

He ran until he couldn't run anymore. He ended up in the forest behind Englands house. He fell to his knees as he felt his heart rip open again and again.

_A Rose and a Thorn_

He never knew why roses were his favorite flower. They looked so pretty yet the thorns always hurt when you wanted to touch one. He thought he would never know why until he saw England pick one. He winced slightly as a thorn bit into his skin.

"Just like Scotland." He said quietly.


	2. Just For Tonight

Okay, so here is the first one-shot remakes of my other one-shots... Just go with it. XD Even though I said this was going to be up yesterday (Unless you on the West Coast) I locked myself outside of my house.  
>Not even joking. Anyway, I remade the story. Comments about the story are below<p>

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><p>Just for Tonight<p>

Scotland had found him in the woods; the little thing was wrapped up in a cloth matching the dark green around them. He had been asleep when Scotland had found him. Scotland tip-toed around the branches and winced as the frost under his feet cracked, and poked the little bundle which _screamed_ at him.

"Fuckin…!" Scotland cursed as he jumped back, grabbed his bow from his back, and then looked at the little bundle that was currently kicking up at him. He pulled the cloth from the head and a mop of blonde hair spilled out, and two brilliant green eyes looked up at him. They both stared into each other eyes before the little blonde headed boy threw himself at Scotland. He said nothing, but shivered holding on to him. Scotland rubbed the little boy's back slowly, feeling how cold the little thing was. Scotland, having a bigger heart than anyone thought he would ever have, carried the little thing back to his house where he closed the door with his foot, and put him down in front of the fire and put another blanket around him.

"Are… are you hungry?" He asked to the little child, watching for the reaction. He was surprised when the boy nodded his head slowly, the bright green eyes watching him. He reached up for a bowl and poured him some cold soup and handed it to him. The little child's eyes lit up and he ate it hurriedly, then shyly looked up at Scotland. Scotland took the bowl and smiled at him, putting the bowl on the little table. He kneeled down to the child's angle. "Err… are you a boy?" He asked.

The child raised an eyebrow, "A… boy?" He said softly, the voice smooth and high pitched like a child.

"Yeah, a boy." Scotland said, smiling.

The child looked up at him, "I think I am."

Scotland, horribly confused why the child would not know if he was a boy or not, decided not to press it any farther. "Where do you live?"

"I used to live with mummy, until she disappeared. She told me to look for you when she did, Brother Scotland."

Okay, now if Scotland was confused before, it was _all_ cleared up.

"Ah, Brother England." He said, smiling. He stood back up and put England on the bed. "Sit here for a while, okay? I'm going out to hunt."

England, smiling happily, nodded. "Of course Brother, of course!"

Scotland smiled and shut the door firmly behind him.

The sky had turned a deep purple by the time Scotland had come back, holding his prize of a deer and two rabbits, just enough for a few days worth of food. He hung the deer in a tree high enough so bears or any other animal would not get it, and carried the rabbits inside. As he shut the door, he looked over to see England poking the fire softly. He looked up when the door opened and smiled happily at him.

"Aye, were you a good lad while I was gone?"

England nodded and jumped (literally) back onto the bed and watched Scotland drag a chair out from under the table and put the rabbits on it. "Where did that bowl go?" Scotland asked.

"I cleaned it." England said, and pointed at the bowl in the lowest shelf of the cabinet. "I also swept the floors."

"Aye, so you did." Scotland said, noting the young country yawning. He grabbed a pillow off his bed (he had two) and he took out a few blankets he had and spread them on the floor. He picked England up and put him down in the floor with the blankets and ruffled his hair. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

England nodded, and crawled under the blankets. He fell asleep watching Scotland butcher the rabbits.

Then he woke what seemed like a few minutes later, but it must have been a few hours seeing how the fire had gone out. He sat up, wondering what woke him. The huge clash of thunder told him what it was. He let out a gasp and dove under the blankets once more. He shook as another clap of thunder seemingly took over his thoughts and fears. Scotland, waking to the gasp lit and candle and looked over at England.

"What is it?" He said tiredly.

England was starting to sleep when the thunder made its presents known again. He curled up in his cloak he was still wearing, and looked up at the Scotsman quietly.

And Scotland felt his heart get warm.

"Oh, alright. But just for tonight."

England ran and jumped on the bed, curling up into a ball. Scotland smiled and took off his shirt he had left on, before looking back at the boy.

Who had fallen asleep.

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><p>The one I had written originally was so evil sounding! D: It sounded like Scotland didn't have a heart at all. I think he really started to dislike England after he got a bit older, like when England was in his teens.<p>

The 'mummy' here is Britannia. Complete female in my mind, no questions asked. She would have raised Scotland and Ireland first until they could take of themselves then moved down to the southern part of the island and took care of Wales and England. (At least in my mind). So that is why Scotland knew it was England, because of his eyes, the fact he replied to him (Use of different languages but went Disney and everyone talks the same language to where everyone can understand them), and he calls Britannia 'mummy' because that is what him and Ireland called Britannia.

Anyway, if y'all don't care to, review? More coming in the future~!


	3. Sky

When I look at the sky, it reminds me of myself. The way the clouds roll in unexpected tells me of my sorrows. They remind me of all those days in history where I want to just tear all the pages right out and burn them, burn them in hell.

But that won't change anything, will it?

Still, when I think of burning the pages, it brings me back to the sky. How it was blood red that day, the darkest day of my history. How the moon even shined orange, as if to mock me while I looked from my jail cell. The dusty ground where I sat reminded me of the battle field, blood splattered around from my numerous injuries.

Then, on those rare days were the sun is shining bright, I look up and smile sadly. I think of her, my beautiful mother. Just standing there to welcome me home from when I was a teenager. Her blonde hair hanging down in ringlets, her bright green eyes full of love. She looked like an angel to me. She would hug me when I came through the door with my freshly killed meat, and kiss my cheek. I would feel my cheeks burn and she would wander back to my younger brother. I would always watch her grace and said to myself that I would marry a girl just like that.

That was before she told us the truth of what we were.

We didn't care back then. We were happy kids, me and my brother. One day, she told me she had to take care of two younger kids down south and left me and him. I missed the hug and kiss as soon as I walked through the door. The house had lost its brightness that she would give. She was my sun.

I still cry when the shows through the clouds. I go to her grave often and just lay beside it, talking. Pretending she is sitting there listening to me, pretending she is brushing her hand gently through my hair.

I miss her.

I look up at the sky now, and see a little break through the clouds. I smile sadly and watch the clouds roll by without a second thought.

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><p>While I was doing the dishes, I thought of this. Of course, that was two days ago so it's not as long as it would have been.<p>

Reviews? 3


	4. The Best

The Best

'_It is really amazing how fast kids grew these days'_ Scotland mused, watching England climb over a log. A little wooden sword was attached to his back and he was old enough to wear pants now. He slid down the log carefully and waited for Scotland to put his hand on the log and jump over it with ease. England then ran ahead of Scotland, only slowing down when Scotland called out to him. England stopped at the river bottoms and looked back up at Scotland who took a sharp left. England followed behind.

"Brother, where are we going?"

Scotland didn't answer, only kept going. England followed without another word.

After a few moments, Scotland held a few bushes to the side for England to walk in front of him. After he went in to a small meadow he turned to see Scotland's sword two inches from his nose. Had his brother brought him here to kill him?

Scotland looked at the big green eyes, the pupils dilating in fear. He smiled.

"Aye, get ya sword out, lad."

England struggled with his wooden sword, finally pulling it out. Scotland watched him struggle, frowning. If any country (mainly Spain) had come, England would be dead without anyone even knowing…

"Ah ha!" He was holding his sword awkwardly in front of him, but his eyes looked at him asking for praise.

Scotland smiled and held up his. "A little slow, but you'll get it with time."

And then, the dance began. Scotland easily blocked all the feeble attempts the boy made, actually laughing once or twice from the feeble attempts of the child.

And he got cocky. Soon, he found England keeping up with his long strides from where he dodged. But with the shape he was in, he kept up just fine. England, on the other hand, was soon slowing down.

Scotland then swung toward him. England did block it, but it knocked him over.

"Ohf!" England hit the ground, panting and holding his little wooden sword closer.

"Aye, lad, you need to pick up the pace!" Scotland said, holding his sword over his shoulder smirking, his red eyebrow cocked. "If you are this slow everyone is going to step on-" he stopped as he saw a sword pointed at his throat and a blood drop off of England's chin.

"They won't step on me if I step on them first." England rasped. "Because, I learned from the best." England smirked as he looked up at Scotland.

Scotland was shocked that the lad would give him such a compliment. He stared down at him for a moment before chuckling.

"Aye, that ye did." Scotland grabbed England's sword and swung it over his shoulder with his. "Thats enough fer today, lad. Come on." He looked down as he felt England slip his hand into his.

After they got home, Scotland had asked why England's lip was bleeding. England looked down sheepishly, "Well… I kinda bit it hard when I hit the ground."

Scotland kneeled down and looked at it. It actually looked like he had busted it open. He sighed, "Well, ye bit it good, laddie. I dunno if there's really anythin' I can do fer it…"

England shook his head quickly, "I need to learn how to take pain, though! I want it to heal up so I know how you feel whenever you go off to battle with a wound!"

Scotland never had the heart to tell him that it didn't work like that. Plus, he found out soon enough himself.

And that wound actually scarred him. Every time they talked, it was always the first thing Scotland saw. Not the hate in those green eyes, not the sandy blonde hair, what the lad was wearing, none of it. Only that scar.


	5. Sexual Tension

Sexual Tension

The Brit didn't want one damn thing to do with that Scotsmen. He had a horrible mop of red hair, he had the darkest green eyes, AND his accent ruined his language.

Not one damn thing to do with him. He knew that the Scot felt the exact same, he saw the hate in those eyes, the fire that started whenever he'd say something horrible wrong. He saw how his stance was cocky, and showed of defiance to the younger. So, why in the world did anyone think they had sexual tension was beyond him.

The Scot knew better, of course. He knew what the blonde didn't want to say. He saw the way that the English man's eyes would always go in a pattern, and it never differed: his hair, his eyes, his mouth, then slowly down his body until he realized what he did, and they would flash back to his eyes and stay there.

Arthur was predictable. He honestly was. There was times when Alistair would see the Brit's hard on from a good five feet away, and the Brit had only been in the room with him.

Arthur wanted Alistair bad.

And, it seemed that whenever the younger would notice this, he seemed to want to argue. Not that the Scot minded, he loved a good fight as much as a good fag, or whisky, or sex.

But God was it annoying.

And today was nothing different.

"How dare you, you wanker!"

"Ah, shut ye trap, damn Brit."

"I will not, and can you not use my language like you are supposed to!?"

"Ah dinnae think Ah will."

"Fuck you!"

"Cunt."

It always went on like this, never stopped, never slowing down. Wales, Northern Ireland, and depending if he was there, Ireland as well would sit there and watch the two fight, ready to stop a brawl if necessary (well, Wales anyway). They would bid on who would strike first, though it never differed.

It was always Britain, always Arthur. He was the one who would start the fights, just to have the eldest finish them.

Some things never seemed to change.

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><p>Okay, guys, I do really need some help. D: What do you guys want now? This one was the one I was asked for the most, and now I'm not sure what to do...<p> 


	6. The Bottle

The Bottle

There were times when he would drink the bottle without a care in the world, only to find multiple bottles smashed up by his feet at the end of the night, and his knuckles covered in blood. There were times when the pain was just too much and he'd get so drunk he'd fall asleep right where he stood, and in the morning would have to dig the pieces of glass out.

All because of him; all because of that one male. It drove him crazy how only ONE person in the world could do this to him.

Was he a fuckin love sick teenager? He didn't know anymore. All he did know was that his heart beat for the other and every drop of liquor didn't help the feelings. Every small piece of broken shards didn't make the pain aching for the other's love as he tore them from his legs and arms. He would pace around in his drunken state from time to time, and see all the colors in his house that was in the other's eyes, the tints that laced the other's hair.

And he'd pick up the bottle once more.


	7. Colder Weather

"Colder Weather"

_"She'd trade Colorado if he'd take her with him,_  
><em>Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in,<em>  
><em>And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay,<em>  
><em>She's answered by the tail lights,<em>  
><em>Shining through the window pane"<em>

Arthur watched the redhead walk out of the house and down the drive. His heart was clenched in his chest, his fingernails beginning to draw blood from his palm. His lip was beginning to swell from where his teeth had dug in. The pain didn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

_"He said,_  
><em>'I wanna see you again,<br>But I'm stuck in colder weather,  
>Maybe tomorrow will be better,<br>Can I call you then?'"  
><em>

He was disgusted with himself. He just walked out on the blonde, left those green eyes shining with tears. He _couldn't _blame him for not answering his calls or returning them.

He set his pen down and folded the paper, and shoved it in an envelope.  
>_<p>

"_She said,  
>'You're a ramblin' man,<br>And you ain't ever gonna change,  
>You've got a gypsy's heart to blame,<br>And you were born for leavin'"  
>_<em>

His letter had tears on the page, and some of the ink had come off onto the water. It laid crumpled on the ground beside him. His reply had spoken the truth and nothing but the truth.

And they both knew it.  
>_<p>

_"At a truck stop diner just outside of Lincoln,_  
><em>The night is black as the coffee he was drinkin',<em>  
><em>And in the waitress' eyes he sees the same 'ol light shinin',<em>  
><em>He thinks of Colorado,<em>  
><em>And the girl he left behind him"<em>  
>_<p>

His hands were fisted in his pockets. He had left his car at his brother's house, but no he was regretting it. The cold chilled him to his core. He ducked into a small coffee shop and sat down, warmth trying to find its way back into his bones. He was hardly aware of his waitress, but when he looked up, he felt his heart beat begin to go insane.

Her eyes were his shade of green. No… almost… duller.

But the same light shined in them.  
>_<p>

"_He said,  
>'I wanna see you again,<br>But I'm stuck in colder weather,  
>Maybe tomorrow will be better,<br>Can I call you then?'"  
>_<em>

He was standing in a payphone, snow clinging to his read hair. His green eyes fell shut in anger and guilt. He slammed the phone back in place.

"_She said,  
>'You're a ramblin' man,<br>And you ain't ever gonna change,  
>You've got a gypsy's heart to blame,<br>And you were born for leavin'"  
>_<em>

The green eyes opened as the phone stopped ringing. He was laying in his bed, his pillow covering his ears. Fresh tears were on the bed below, and they wouldn't stop raining down. His heart was almost numb by now, and his hands had drawn blood again…

_"Born for leavin'"  
>_<em>

By now, the snow had a thick blanket on the ground. He was soaked from head to toe, the snow somehow finding its way into his shoes.

_20 miles…  
><em>_

"_It's a winding road,  
>Between the lost and found,<br>You're a lover, I'm a runner,  
>And we go 'round and 'round,<br>__I love you but I leave you  
><em>I don't want you,  
>But I need you,<br>You know its you who calls me back here, baby"

He was numb everywhere. The cold was beginning to get to him. He couldn't find the will in his body to move, but he couldn't stop. Not now.

_10 miles…_

"_Can I see you again?  
>Cause I'm stuck in colder weather,<br>Maybe tomorrow will be better,  
>Can I call you then?<br>Cause I'm a rambling man,  
>And I ain't gonna change,<br>I got a gypsy's heart to blame,  
>And I was born for leavin,<br>Born for leavin…"  
><em>_

The final steps weren't even felt. The name was mumbled on his breath. A phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out numbly and answered the phone.

"He didn't make it, Alistair."

He stared at the burnt remains of the house.

"Ah know."  
>_<p>

_"And when I close my eyes I see you_  
><em>No matter where I am<em>  
><em>I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines,<br>__I'm with your ghost again,  
><em>_It's a shame about the weather,  
><em>_I know we'll soon be together,  
><em>_I can't wait til then."_

The green eyes opened. The room was white, and blurring whenever he moved his head. He turned and waited a moment before he opened his eyes. As he opened his eyes, he was there, pulling open the curtains. Alistair tried to sit up,

"Arth—"

Arthur came over to him, and put a finger to his mouth to stop his speech.

"Look, it's warm today."

Alistair looked back at the window, and opened his mouth to answer.

But the spirit was gone.

"_I can't wait til then."  
><em>

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><p><em>Song: Colder Weather<em>

_By: The Zac Brown Band_


End file.
